


Anniversary

by madsthenerdygirl



Series: Merlin Memory Month '18 [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Major Character Undeath, OR IS IT, One-Sided Attraction, you don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: Sometimes it's easier to say things when you're talking into the void.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the third round of prompts for Merlin Memory Month. I combined three prompts: Gold and Green, Lonely, and "If we could meet again/then and now."

_Gold and green, dappled, hitting his eyes. Like scales, almost, a dragon’s scales, although he’s never seen dragon scales that color before. He’d like to. If there were any dragons left._

Merlin opened his eyes slowly. He did that often nowadays. Once, he had to yank his eyes open at the crack of dawn every morning and jump out of bed. Even with the aid of magic, there were so many things to do as Arthur’s manservant that he couldn’t afford to dally.

Now, he had all the time in the world.

He hated it.

The early morning sunlight filtered down through the leaves on the tree, creating the flecks of color that had swirled like a sea before his blurry eyes until he blinked and adjusted. He spent a lot of time under this particular tree. Especially in summer, when the air was sweet and warm. Despite the town edging ever closer to the lake in the years since it had sprung up, there were still parts of the bank that remained untouched, and this tree had been there since Merlin had first desperately dragged Arthur past it, all those centuries ago.

Today was the day.

He had never marked in any kind of calendar what day Arthur had been lost to him. Even if he had, the changing of calendars and timekeeping would have made it impossible to keep proper track. Yet, somehow, every time the anniversary approached, he knew it. He could feel it inside of him, like his very bones became heavier, more grounded. The rest of the year he felt like he was only half alive, the rest of him some kind of ethereal thing. He half expected to wake up and find himself see-through, or invisible to everyone else. But on this day—this day he felt truly a part of the world again. He felt alive.

How ironic.

Merlin closed his eyes again, letting the sunlight play with his vision. Gold and green. Gold and green.

It felt like he spent a lot of his time like this, half dreaming. Good thing it was a weekend. Good thing there were weekends now. Sometimes the day would fall on a weekday, or some other time when he’d be working at whatever new job he’d picked up for the hell of it, and he would have to call in sick or something. The worst had been during the wars. He’d exhausted himself and his magic transporting himself here, just for the day, because as silly as it was, he couldn’t bear to spend it away from Arthur.

He gave up on dreaming and sat up, staring across the grass to the green island in the middle of the lake. Nobody knew what it was for, that island. It had taken Merlin some time to realize that the island looked tinier to everyone else than it did to him. It was his magic, he supposed, giving him the ability to see beyond the carefully-constructed glamour that the Fae had constructed.

There was no movement on the island. But then, there never had been. If the Sidhe and the Fae, in whatever form, still existed, they were keeping themselves well hidden.

Merlin cleared his throat. “Hey.”

The only sound was the whisper of breeze as it wove through the green branches above his head. Merlin sighed. Once there was a forest surrounding him as he did this. Now there was a road behind him, and houses on either side, although not too close. He’d have to remember to talk quietly.

“So, uh, you’re probably wondering what I’ve been up to this year,” he went on. “It’s not much. Attended a bunch of protests, that sort of thing. Apparently I fit right in, look like a natural hipster or something. I know you don’t know what that is but I think you’d find it funny.

“I’m working as a librarian. I know, I know, but I get to read a lot of books, which is nice.” He began to talk about some of the books that he had read, the ones that he thought Arthur would like.

He then talked about going to the Olympics that year, and how he was thinking of learning how to ice skate. “I’m not flinging myself around like them, mind, I’m not quite that reckless no matter what you used to say.” He’d stayed in Korea afterwards, traveling around, visiting old haunts and finding new ones. That was the nice thing about the world, just when you thought you’d explored everywhere, there was a new place that you hadn’t been or something you hadn’t seen.

“I’ve got this list, on my phone, and whenever they find a new cave system or something I just add it to the list. I’m thinking of taking a year in South America, it’s been ages since I was last there. Maybe stick around in time for Carnival.” Merlin paused.

“I, uh… I still don’t know, what it’ll take. To bring you back.” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the heat rising up in his eyes. “I’ve read everything. And I know, some people used to say you’d come back when the world needed you, but it’s needed you so many times now. I mean, honestly Arthur, if you could see the politics… if there’s ever a time for strong leaders, yeah? And you’d do it brilliantly. But I don’t know if that means you’re just going to wake up, or be reborn or something, or—but I can feel you, you know?”

He could, right in his chest, a warmth that dimmed the farther away from Avalon he got but never truly went away. It burned brightest here, when he was so close—so close and yet so far away. He’d never been to the island, knowing he was not welcome. No person was welcome. Part of the magic of it snuffed out anyone’s curiosity, so that anybody who thought about going there simply… didn’t care. It was just a little hill, so why bother?

“I know you’re there,” Merlin went on. He wiped furiously at his eyes. “I can feel you. And I don’t understand, when I’ve tried everything, when I—how can I still be around, if you’re not supposed to come back? Why would I be kept away from you?”

He curled up in himself, hugging his knees. Times like these he felt like a young boy all over again, fresh-faced and coming to Camelot with no idea whatsoever about what he was doing, or what lay in store for him.

Oddly, too, sometimes he missed his mom. Just missed someone who could wrap their arms around him while he cried.

“If we could do it all over,” he admitted, “If we could meet again, if I could just… go back, and do it, I’d do it so differently, Arthur, I would. I’d do so many things different. I’d tell Morgana about my magic so she didn’t feel alone, and talk to her, you know? I’d—I’d be a friend to Mordred so that he wasn’t bitter against me and I—I would tell you that magic was all right, when we were in that cave, and I know now it would kill Mordred but killing him means you live and I’m selfish and I’d do it, and I’d, most of all I’d…

“I’d tell you, about my magic. I would. I don’t know how or when but I’d do it, because you spent so much—your last days you were angry with me and you had every right to be, and I hate that. I hate that our last days together you were angry. Because I—I was so stupidly in love with you, don’t you know?”

That was the one thing he’d never told Arthur, in all this time. He hadn’t seen the point. But he was so full of hopelessness, now. When he’d thought that Arthur would return he hadn’t wanted to say anything, hadn’t wanted it to be awkward between them. But what was the point in hiding it when Arthur might never come back?

“I mean, I’m sure you know now.” Merlin gave a harsh laugh. “In case my coming back every year and babbling at you wasn’t a clue. I was so sure you’d figure it out, you know. I was so obvious. I think even Morgana knew. The knights did. Gwaine would give me this look sometimes… I hated it, because I hated pity, you know, I knew you didn’t feel the same way but it wasn’t like I was miserable or anything. I was happy. I knew you never said it but we were—we were best friends, weren’t we? I like to think we were. And I was okay with that. Really, I was. And there’s no sweeter or better person than Gwen, so, it was all fine.”

He sighed, brushing away the tears that had slid down his face. “I’m not asking for anything in return, you know. I guess I’m just… it was okay, before, because loving someone who doesn’t love you back in the same way, it sucks, but it wasn’t like my life was empty, yeah? I had friends. You were my best friend. I had my mum, and Gaius, and the other servants. It was good. I wasn’t ever… and now I’m all… I’m all alone.

“Gods, I’m lonely, and it’s awful. I mean I make friendly with people, but there’s so much I can’t tell them, and I can’t stick around for long because after about five years or so they start to notice they look older and I don’t.

“Internet’s nice that way, actually. I can make friends and they don’t ever see my face, and I just pretend I get older every year, and they don’t have to know but it’s not the same, is it? It’s not like—being with someone and getting to touch them, just like a clap on the shoulder—you know I used to hate it when Percy did that to me, it’d knock the wind out of me because of his goddamn tree trunk arms but now I’d give anything for him to be here and do it again. Because I miss that casual touching. And seeing people’s faces, really knowing that face, and what all the expressions mean.

“I have to be so careful. What I say, how I look, my backstory. Pretend I have relatives, things like that. And inside it’s just this ache that won’t ever go away, like that cavern that was underneath Camelot, only it’s inside of me now, and it’s all echoing and empty.

“Sorry. I’m not trying to dump anything on you. And let’s be honest here—you probably aren’t hearing any of this.” Merlin plucked idly at the grass around him, watched the way the golden sunlight played over his fingers. “You’re either dead or you're asleep and either way you can’t hear me. But I had to say it. I think it’s almost easier, saying this, knowing you can’t hear me. I’m waiting for you and I’ll wait for you until the end of time because it’s been ages but I’m still fucking in love with you, but it’s lonely. I’m so lonely I can’t contain it all the time.”

He lay back down in the soft earth underneath the tree. He’d heard a popular legend grow, that he, like Arthur, was asleep, somewhere in the roots of a tree. Nobody ever said if he’d wake up or not. He supposed that nobody cared.

“But if I could go back, if I could start over—I’d be so much more honest, with everybody. I’d be so much kinder, to everybody. I was so scared of losing you, so determined to protect you, that I just, I was harsh to people who needed help and I shut out people who needed a hand. Your sister most of all.

“And I’d tell you the truth. That I have magic. And I’ll only ever use it for you, because… not because some dragon said anything about destiny but because I love you.

“If we could meet again, that might even be the first thing I’d say. Even if you were being a total clotpole. I think I’d still say it. I love you.”

_He closes his eyes, sinks down, gold and green. Gold and green. Gold of his eyes, gold for Pendragon, green for life, green for magic—gold and green._

_Gold and green._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are for the eighth round of prompts for Merlin Memory Month: "the story we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men," anniversaries/celebrations, rebellious, and create a new holiday.

_It’s green, green grass around him, gold in Merlin’s eyes. He can see it flickering. Merlin’s still trying to save him. Trying to—it’s too late, doesn’t he see, so many things he wants to say… It’s the last thing he registers for a long time, before the blackness takes over: green and gold. Green and gold._

It was dark. Always darkness. No colors, nothing.

It felt like he couldn’t breathe, but he had to be. How else was he still alive and conscious? But his chest didn’t move. He didn’t inhale or exhale. What was he?

Sometimes he thought that he dreamed, little flashes of color, or impressions. He’d find himself walking through a forest without knowing how he’d gotten there. Sometimes, he thought he saw someone he knew walking past him. They were like a pale splash of color that flowed past him. Leon. Percival. Guinevere. Gaius.

But then he saw no one and so perhaps it had just been dreaming.

He didn’t know what was and wasn’t real. Was lying there in the darkness, alive but not breathing, not anything, was that reality? Or were the half-remembered dreams of wandering through nature, past crumbling ruins, through fairy circles under the trees, were those what was real?

The one thing that he knew for certain was real—or perhaps it was just what he hoped was real—were the times Merlin spoke to him.

He couldn’t keep track on a clock. But it felt as though Merlin’s speaking to him was on some kind of schedule. Or perhaps it was just that Merlin knew exactly the moment that Arthur was about to go mad, about to try to scream and cry and fight. He couldn’t move. Even in his dreams of wandering he seemed to just be floating more than actually propelling himself with his legs. But he’d be determined to find some way out, some way to end this awful half-life he was stuck in, ready to properly kill himself if that was what it took.

And then he’d hear Merlin.

He didn’t understand all of what Merlin said. He didn’t know what a car was, or the Axis Powers, or a movie. Merlin tried to explain things, but there was only so much when you could only hear the person’s voice and couldn’t see what they were trying to describe.

Merlin told him when everyone they knew was gone.

“Gaius passed in the spring.”

“We lost Percival last week.”

They were always after Arthur saw those colorful blurs and he couldn’t help but wonder.

After a while, Merlin stopped mentioning anyone that they knew. And Arthur knew, somehow, that time was passing. Time felt like eternity to him, but also nonexistent. He had no way of keeping track other than Merlin’s periodic updates. But he knew, from the things Merlin spoke of, the world getting more and more foreign each time, that the years must be passing swiftly indeed.

He wished he could cry out. He wished he could at least tell Merlin he was listening. Especially the times when Merlin cried. Sometimes Merlin would get angry, yell things, say Arthur obviously wasn’t listening, that he obviously didn’t care even if he was, and that Merlin was stupid to keep visiting like this.

Arthur would have given anything he could to reply. He didn’t even have to see Merlin, or touch him, although every part of him ached to. He just had to be able to speak back so that he could say, “I hear you, please don’t stop, you’re the only thing keeping me sane.”

But he couldn’t.

The last year was the worst.

He could sense that Merlin was there. It always felt like there was simultaneously a gulf between them, and as if Merlin was sitting right next to him. He couldn’t explain it. But then, he couldn’t explain what was happening to him, either.

“Hey,” Merlin said.

Arthur wanted to cry with relief, if only he could move. _Merlin_ , he thought, wondering if maybe he thought it loud enough is voice would finally obey and speak. _Merlin, I’m here, I’m here, come find me, Merlin, get me out of here._

As always, no sound came out. He was paralyzed.

Merlin talked about being a librarian—something Geoffrey would have balked at—and of some protests he had attended. He spoke of the places he’d traveled to this year and was thinking of traveling to this year. It felt to Arthur as though Merlin had already traveled the world several times over, yet Merlin never seemed to tire of it.

Then something in Merlin’s voice seemed to break.

“I, uh… I still don’t know, what it’ll take. To bring you back.”

Arthur felt as though something in his chest was cracking open. So many years, it had to have been centuries, and Merlin was still trying to save him.

He wanted to tell him to stop, as Merlin rattled on about it. He wanted to tell him it was no use. Just go. Why did he keep himself tied to Arthur? What had Arthur ever done for him to warrant such depth of loyalty?

 _I was a prat to you_ , he wanted to scream. _Just go away and leave me here. I was so selfish. You were suffering, hiding this huge secret from me, and you used it only to protect me, and it’s my fault. I made you feel you couldn’t share yourself with me. You spent your life for me and now you should live for yourself._

But Merlin couldn’t hear him. And so Merlin kept trying to bring him back.

“I can feel you, you know?”

Arthur did know. He could feel Merlin. He couldn’t feel anything else, not even his own limbs, but he could feel Merlin’s presence. It was like a far-away fire that he just had to get close to.

“I know you’re there,” Merlin said. He sounded like he was about to cry. “I can feel you. And I don’t understand, when I’ve tried everything, when I—how can I still be around, if you’re not supposed to come back? Why would I be kept away from you?”

God, Arthur would have given everything in him to be able to wipe those tears away. All this time and all Merlin wanted was to be with him?

 _I haven’t earned this_ , he thought. _I haven’t earned you, Merlin._

And then, after all this time… the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Merlin said, “I love you.”

It felt like being hit over the head with a sword pommel—and Arthur had in fact been hit over the head with one of those, so he knew what he was talking about.

Merlin loved him. Merlin was in love with him, had been this entire time.

He’d been so blind.

How could he have missed this? This almost hurt more than the magic. Arthur had never in his life wanted to scream so badly. _What were you thinking, you idiot? You couldn’t have maybe fallen in love with someone who deserved it?_

All those years of yelling at Merlin, of taking him for granted, of scolding him and teasing him and generally being a right arse… and Merlin had loved him in spite of it all?

There were times when he still didn’t understand how even Gwen had managed to love him. He’d given her gifts, and flowery words, and affection, but he’d known the whole time he wasn’t the best of husbands. He forgot things. He would neglect her. He’d take her for granted almost as many times as he did Merlin. Honestly, half the time he looked at himself in the mirror and wondered when she was going to give up and move on to Leon or someone.

And that hadn’t been anything like the kind of love that he could hear in Merlin’s voice. Gwen’s love for him had been something soft and kind, something he could rely on, a little escape from the rest of the world. But it hadn’t been truly passionate, not since the beginning, and there were still so many things said and unsaid between them. In the end, it had almost felt like they loved one another out of habit, because they had fought so hard for it that they couldn’t give it up now, had grown used to it.

But the pain in Merlin’s voice, the weight of it, and the fire—almost as though he were daring someone to be angry with him for loving Arthur, as if he was rebelling against some great destiny by daring to dedicate himself to Arthur like this.

Arthur could only wish Merlin had dedicated himself to someone more worthy of his devotion.

“If we could meet again, that might even be the first thing I’d say. Even if you were being a total clotpole. I think I’d still say it. I love you.”

 _Don’t_ , Arthur screamed in his head. When were the people in his life going to finally understand? He failed them, over and over again. Morgana. Father. Gwen. Elyan. Lancelot. And Merlin, his constant companion, who he had somehow managed to fail most of all.

Merlin’s voice faded after that, although his presence didn’t go away for some time.

Arthur’s mind was reeling.

He had never truly understood Merlin’s devotion to him. He’d known, even before the reveal of Merlin’s magic, that Merlin had done quite a lot, sacrificed quite a lot, for Arthur. He’d never really spoken of it because he hadn’t known how.

Maybe it was because a part of him knew, and it scared him, the idea that someone could love him that much. Because inevitably he’d fail them.

He knew that he hadn’t been all that Gwen wanted, although she had been too gentle and too loyal to discuss it. How could he be all that Merlin wanted when he hadn’t even been trying?

The time between Merlin’s visits was a long one. It gave him plenty of time to think when he wasn’t in one of his dreams. Sometimes, in those dreams this go round, he thought he’d see someone in the forest. Just a glimpse, of blue or red, and he would think, _Merlin_ , and try to chase him. But his movements were sluggish, and the flash of color would be gone almost as soon as it had arrived.

He had nothing but time here. And for once that time was dedicated to something: to Merlin.

He went over every interaction, every moment. He could see, now, moments that hadn’t added up before, that he had dismissed, were moments where Merlin was using his magic. He suspected that Lancelot had known. Gaius had most certainly known. He wasn’t sure about anyone else.

But now he could also see little chinks in Merlin’s armor. Now he knew where to look. And he realized that he’d been so impossibly blind. That smile that Merlin seemed to only give to him. The way Merlin’s eyes would track him. The firm but soothing touches of Merlin’s hands after battle, checking Arthur for injuries as he helped him out of his armor.

_Forgive me. I’ve been so unworthy of you._

He could see something else, too. Something almost stupider than not knowing Merlin loved him.

After all, one can excuse not seeing how someone else feels. How can you excuse not knowing how you feel?

Who had he gone to when he needed advice? Merlin. Who had he been relieved to see at the end of each day, and felt a warm glow of pleasure at seeing each morning? Merlin. Who had he relied on, more than anyone else, trusted more than anyone else? Who had he turned to more than any advisor or knight, more than his own wife?

Merlin.

Maybe this was what Gwen saw. Maybe this was why she had oh so gently pulled away from him, softened their love until it was like a comforting blanket, warm and reassuring but so lacking in the passion and dedication he had once dreamed of having with a spouse.

_Guinevere. I swear I didn’t mean to wrong you._

It could have been weeks or even years, but in that darkness he had nothing but his memories and a slow building realization to dwell on. It strengthened him, even. His dreams of wandering became more solid. He felt as though he could move through them properly. He could see and hear and smell, sometimes even touch, the nature around him.

Each time it felt he grew stronger, and he felt new determination build in him. He didn’t know what laws of nature were decreeing that he be stuck in this limbo but he would rebel against them. He would find a way.

_You will hear me this time, Merlin. You will know that I heard every word._

He could see it so clearly in his mind’s eye, Merlin standing on the bank of a river, his eyes glowing gold, greenery all around him.

_I heard every word._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't leave you guys unhappy forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur’s dreams were very vivid this time.

For the first time, he realized that he was not in an unending forest. He was on an island. A large one, but still, an island.

He looked out across the water and knew somehow that he must cross it. He must get to the mainland.

For the first time, he felt solid. When he entered he water his body sank in. He was no longer just floating like a ghost. He began to wade in, not knowing why, only knowing he had to get to the other side.

The water was cold. He hadn’t felt cold this entire time. He hadn’t felt anything. He could feel his body returning to him, and he gasped, and the sound came out, his lungs working, his mouth opening.

To feel his body again was the most glorious thing. He sucked in great gulps of air, moved his limbs, shuddered with cold and it was all so glorious.

He reached the riverbank and all but collapsed. After so long not moving, not even feeling himself, he tired quickly. He hauled himself up and just lay there in the soft, green grass. He trembled with cold but didn’t care—the sun was warm above him and feeling pain was better than feeling nothing.

There was a choked sound, almost like a sob that had been strangled. Arthur tried to look up, but then someone was upon him.

Instinctively, he thought he must fight back. But his limbs were too tired and aching and he could only haul himself up onto his elbows before the person was touching him all over—and he knew that touch. Firm but soothing, checking him for injuries.

Arthur looked up.

“Merlin?” He croaked.

He was wearing strange clothes that looked far too flimsy to have any right to be on someone’s body, but other than that he looked the same. Still a bit gangly, still with too-large ears and a pointy chin. Still Merlin.

Arthur smiled up at him helplessly. He was alive. Somehow, he had broken free. He was alive and with Merlin.

“Oh my God, you prat,” Merlin choked out, hauling him up—he’d gotten stronger, or maybe Arthur was just weaker—and wrapping his arms around him.

Arthur held on tightly, shaking, relief flooding him as he realized he was no longer in his prison. He could see and touch again, move again, breathe again.

He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt Merlin’s hand moving up and down his back soothingly as he made shushing noises.

Merlin. Always being his strength, even when he thought he didn’t need it.

Then he remembered.

Arthur pulled back, taking Merlin’s face in his hands. How he had struggled to hold that face in his memory, to preserve it so that he would never forget it, even as the faces of others had faded.

“I heard,” he told him. “I heard everything, Merlin, everything you said.”

Merlin’s face went pale, his eyes widening. “You…”

As Gwen and many others could attest, Arthur had never been good with words. So he just kissed him.

There was a moment where Merlin was clearly at a loss, stiff with surprise, but then he gave a little sigh and clung to Arthur, desperate and hungry. They were touch starved, both of them, Arthur unable to even move his own body never mind touch someone else’s, and he had a feeling it had been a long time since Merlin had gotten so much as a friendly hug from anyone.

He wanted so much. He wanted everything. He wanted to run until his lungs burned and his legs gave out, testing his body to its limits, just so that he knew that he could again. He wanted to eat food, taste it, roll it around in his mouth and then feast until his stomach ached. He wanted to scream as loud as he could just to hear his own voice again. He wanted to cry, and cry, and cry, for days.

Most of all he wanted Merlin. He wanted to feel every inch of Merlin, wanted to sink into him until they were one person and never separate again. He wanted to feel him, run his hands all over until he knew every inch of Merlin even if he went blind. he wanted to know what Merlin tasted like on the lips, at his hipbone, at the tendons of his neck. He wanted Merlin to mark him, to give him scratches on his back and bruises on his arms and bite marks on his neck. He wanted to kiss him until they were bruised and breathless, hold him until his arms ached, tangle with him until they couldn't even move for being exhausted and sated. He wanted to know what Merlin sounded like when he screamed, when he gasped, when he moaned.

He wanted to take and take and give and give and make up for every moment they'd wasted, Merlin pining and Arthur oblivious.

And there would be time for that, later. There would be time for Merlin to take him home and show him all the books and stories about them, and Arthur would run his fingers over their spines wonderingly, and feel tears sting his eyes when Merlin said, “You were right. Our story has lived long in the lives of men.”

There would be time for a nice warm shower, a brand new invention and one that Arthur would indulge in until Merlin laughed and told him that he was going to drown in there if he wasn’t careful, and Arthur would just yank him in under the spray. Merlin would splutter and protest but his protests would get a lot less vigorous and start to sound a lot more like pleading when Arthur pushed him back against the cool tiles, sucking on the skin of his neck.

There would be time to curl up in front of a fire and learn what movies were, to read the history books, to listen to Merlin talk and talk, and to talk to Merlin as well, tell him what it had been like, and how Merlin’s words were the only thing keeping him sane.

“I feel like screaming from the rooftops,” Merlin would admit. He would be curled up with his back pressed against Arthur’s chest, letting Arthur put his arms around him because a few centuries is a long time and neither of them would want to let go any time soon. “I want to declare today a new holiday.”

But he’d had what felt like a year to think about what he’d last heard Merlin say (and would later learn it had in fact been exactly a year) and he’d had that time to come to a conclusion of his own. So before any of that happened, he pulled back long enough to look Merlin in the eyes and say,

“I heard you. And I love you, too.”

Merlin’s eyes flashed and next thing he knew Arthur was on his back in the grass, laughing, pulling Merlin on top of him, green leaves of the tree above them and the gold, gold, gold of Merlin’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked the ending to this. I just couldn't leave our boys miserable for all time. I'm a sap.


End file.
